Welcome to Call of Maido Quest. The unholy union of CoC and Maid RPG. Why? It is as it was foretold! The Stars are right. The old ones tread the earth they once trod in ages past. Ancient cults find new life as magic seeps into the world once again. Strange creatures lurk in the darkness and the masses tremble in fear. You of course know none of this. Well, you do know a little. You run the local spook shop, a rather crude name for local private investigators. You mostly run missing persons, runaway teens, house investigations and many, many, many adultery cases. Things have been a little rough lately. Missing persons cases crop up more often in the summer. Your tiny desk fan does a dam fine job of keeping you cool when you pass out on your desk. Anyway, Many isn't the right word to describe how many cases you work. Enough to pay the rent, local snitches and booze is more like it. Nothing out of the ordinary. The gun in your face is new though. Should have known the fat mook wasn't here to have you chase his wife around. No ring in the right spot, way too many jowls to fetch a dame. Beads of sweat pour down his face from under his hat and the buttons on his suit threaten to explode away.You hadn't taken any cases lately, so this might have been something a long time coming. The man with the gun is shouting something, but you can’t hear it on account of the fear gripping your soul and the life flashing before your eyes. Your name. The gunman is shouting your name.What is your name?
>>39819167This seems like an interesting quest.>Annette "Anne" ArkwrightBest name I could come up with.
>>39819167James VanhornWe go by Jim though
>>39819310>>398193102/3 Name Chosen. Thank you for joining tonight! Update incoming.
>>39819426I'll second this just so we're a guy
>>39819454Uh oh, seems to be a tie.Next to post sways the vote. It is not too late yet.
>>39819500I'll support James Vanhorn.Gotta have that 5 o'clock shadow and gravely detective voice.
>>39819500Voting for Jim
>>39819529Jim it is then! Sorry for the mix up.
Your name is James Vanhorn. “Jimmy” the man tersely grumbles. “ Jimmy, this is nothing personal. You understand. Orders from up high. Way, up high. So don’t feel too bad. I bet they stock that rot gut swill where you’re going.” The gun-man’s fat finger twitches on the trigger, but not firing. Must not be used to killing poor saps like you. Your eyes dart around your desk. A name plate, the lamp, the fan, a half watered tumbler full of gin and that trinket your father left you when he died. Another flash. You think back.The flames burn hot, incredibly hot. You try to drag the slack form of your father through the burning house, as best as a 12 year old boy can do. The smoke woke you, along with the cries of your father as he staggered through the smoke. You didn’t know why it was happening, and the half cognizant mumbling of your father told you nothing. Panic drove you to pull him along as you reached the stairs. School had told you what to do. Keep low, avoid the flames, look for help. Flames flowed up the walls like some perverse flow of water, splashing down into a pool of smoke as you worked down the stairs. Reaching the hallway you father groaned. “The bookshelf Jim….get..the box…leave me…” You cried, tears running down your soot covered face as you left him, not sure why you were listening. You had to get out! Mother died in childbirth your father told you. She left the box for you one day, saying not to open it until you are ready. Not that you knew then, but the imminent death of your father was as good a time as any. It would all hit you later.
Having fetched the strange, ornate wooden box you turn you watch as beam splits from the flame and lands on legs of your prone father, pinning him with just a simple groan. He calls out for you to come over. “Jim, I’m sorry. Let me see the box.” You have gone beyond panic now, operating on remote. The doctors later will tell you that it was the stress pushing you past your limit. As you told them, your father pressed his hand, glowing, into the seal on the box causing it to pop open. He handed you something, draped in black cloth. Pushing you towards the door being slowly engulfed, dad yelled. “RUN!” You blacked out. You came too some time later. The house completely burnt to the ground, sitting next to a firefighter. The cloth was pulled back. “What you got there sport?” In your hands was ….>an ornate key, the tip strangely squared with a red tassel hanging from the end >a shard of silver metal. Impossibly light and inscribed with strange squiggles>a glass marble. As big as your hand and filled with a silk thread of crimson and sparkling points Sorry about that!
>>39819936>a shard of silver metal. Impossibly light and inscribed with strange squiggles
>>39819936>a shard of silver metal. Impossibly light and inscribed with strange squigglesIs that the Silver Key I spot there?
>>39819936>Script for a play named The King in Yellow
>>39819936>>a shard of silver metal. Impossibly light and inscribed with strange squigglesNo problem Yog
>>39819936>>an ornate key, the tip strangely squared with a red tassel hanging from the end
In your hands is a shard of metal. Impossibly light, and on its surface is inscribed some strange marks. They give you a headache if you look at them too long, but holding it brings you a sense of comfort. You had it made into a necklace. A way your therapist told you was a healthy way to keep your father close. Most of them told you that anyway. At night you swore you could hear it whispering to you. Comforting things in a language you could barely grasp. You described vast cities filled with the “wobbly things” and they had such funny names. More like clicks than words. The physicians called it delusions of a fractured mind, but they never lead to violence so they slowly coaxed you away from such nonsense as your mind scabbed over the scars of that night.Growing up in an orphanage wasn’t great for you. You learned that life wasn’t fair and that the fire wasn’t your fault nor your father’s death. From what you heard later, it was one of the better institutions. It was a short four years until they tossed you out to fend for yourself in the wild. Your father had left you some money, not a vast sum but enough to provide for you. You needed to pick a direction in life. You would have laughed if you had known it would all end with some shitty colt jabbed up your nose. Back in reality the fat gunman kept wheezing. God you hoped he would drop dead before he got the moxie to pull the trigger. Another heartbeat, another flash. You now thought back to your life up until now. What did you spend your time doing before this crappy gig?>you were a soldier in the war>ironically, you were a mafia errand boy >the money left over was enough for a college degree. >Aimless, you were drawn in and joined a cult>The local garage gave you a job so you ran a repair shop
>>39820206>ironically, you were a mafia errand boy
>>39820206>>you were a soldier in the war
>>39820206>Aimless, you were drawn in and joined a cult
>>39820206>the money left over was enough for a college degree.Miskatonic University was a bit weird, especially that one crazy guy who ranted about parallel dimensions in Advanced Math, and that teacher who went everywhere with that bottle filled with a weird powder.
>>39820206>Something happened as you were walking home, and someone ended up dead. The cops didn't show up, but someone else did, offering you a way to make money if a few specific "somethings" happened to a few specific "someones." At first, the jobs were accepted out of fear. Then you realized you were good at it.
This is the first time I've seen a five-way tie.Cool.
>>39820206>the money left over was enough for a college degree.
>>39820206>>you were a soldier in the warwhich war?
>>39820435That's something.....>>39820465Looks like going to school has it
>>39820477World War 1.Okay new vote. Pick one to set your starting skills and attributes.>College >Solider
>>39820521>>SoliderOh hell yeah. WW1 was a meatgrinder. We're jaded and grizzled if we made it through that
>>39820521>CollegeSo we can into investigation.
>>39820521>>SoliderWhat front of the war did we fight on?
>>39820589Western of course. We are American. Leaving this open for 10 min then going with the majority.
>>39820627Nice, trench warfare is best warfare
>maid quest >MC is a dudeHow can you miss the point so fucking hard right off the bat?
>>39820670>not wanting to give the maids the D
>>39820670Dudes can't be maids?
>>39820722No, they can't. It's called a butler, moron.>>39820698Then I'd play Bored Noble Quest.
>>39820766Relax, bro. We can still be an awesome butler and defeat eldritch abominations with our transcendent skill in Boxing.
>>39820861Christ, this sounds like that faggy Mahou Shonen Quest all over again
>>39820933Dude, do you even Demonbane?Winfield, the Butler there managed to almost defeat a really powerful samurai guy who enhaced himself using eldritch magic.And he did that using nothing but sheer human skill.
>You were a Soldier in the great war.You still hear the sounds of death and carnage. The acrid smell of mustard gas wafting through the air, tainting the sweet smell of rot. The army was hiring and you had nothing else to do. You wanted to see the world. The visions of that city filled you with wanderlust. You wanted to see France, Britain blessed Europe. You saw it all drenched in blood and shredded flesh, screaming out for help that would never come. So many died, but death was nothing to you and this hell simply rolled off your shoulders. You were already dead inside.You remember a time when the mortars sang down all around you. There was a table there, you and the other doughboys s were having a good time, tossing around some cards, guessing at which of the new men would last the week. The shard hanging around your neck got you the name Stone as nothing seemed to faze you in this unmitigated carnage. There was voice, low and feminine. It told you to run. And you did. Seconds later the tent exploded. The head of your commanding officer rolled into your lap when you landed. It was smiling. Things after that were a blur. You made it home and set up shop in a dingy office. The same office where some pitiful thug was going to end you with a loaner gun. Your stats!Athletics: 4Affection: 1Skill:3Cunning:2Luck:3Will:5HP: 60Sanity: 100Magic: 01/2
>>39821016>DemonbaneMary Sue bullshit through and through
>>39821052Yeah, but I found it to be fun and entertaining, and that's all that really matters.
Skills:Pilot: 15Shoot: 65Brawl: 65Tinker:40Speech: 15Mythos:0Science: 15Psychic:0Medicine: 15Magic:0Insight: 40Okay: On skill checks your stats define how many chances you get. Skills are all roll under for success with situational DC modifiers His gun wasn't bad, but your’s was nicer. A luger you picked it off some dead kraut. Your trench spike did a number on his skull. The gun had gotten you through a number of scrapes. Now it was sitting helpfully in your desk drawer, out of reach. The fat man seemed to have gotten his courage up and is about to fire. What do you do?
>>39821108How about we Tip the chair back so it falls over, roll away, and try to find some cover And maybe a weapon?
>>39821096Having shit taste isn't something to be proud of
>>39821155An athletics roll with brawl skill.I will take the next 4 linked 1d100s. DC 65.
>>39821108Take a deep breath, stand up, stare the fat fucker down, and walk towards him. Let fear be your weapon to keep his bitch ass in place while you take the gun gently out of his hand."Careful. You might hurt yourself with that."
Rolled 22, 43, 91, 95 = 251 (4d100)>>39821248so 4d100?
Rolled 16 (1d100)>>39821248
Rolled 47 (1d100)>>39821248Here's my roll.>>39821468Unless I'm mistaken, it's best of four rolls, each in a single post.
>>39821468>>39821564>>39821533It was best of four. You passed on all the rolls so far. Success! Writing now.
This isn’t the first time a gun has been inches from your face. You quickly tip the chair backwards, falling to the floor. The gun fires, barely grazing your nose. The hot powder singes your nostrils, but you are already focusing on rolling away. You get behind the heavy side of the desk, the next shot rings out and drills into the ficus pot. The pottery shatters, leaving a decent sized chunk to be your makeshift terra-cotta shiv. Dodging a third and fourth shot you reach out and grasp it from between the slugs. You are both armed and ready to fight. Two shots left in the mook’s gun. He is shaking pretty badly (-30 to hit) You…>Lunge out and close the gap>Fake standing up by throwing some papers then going for the throat>Throw the shard like a knife into the mook>Write in
>>39821813>Fake standing up by throwing some papers then going for the throatIf he's already trembling something tells me he'll spook.
>>39821813>Fake standing up by throwing some papers then going for the throatMake him waste his ammo.
Rolled 89, 16 = 105 (2d100)Lowest above -40 will be the goons two shots. DC for the goon is 25.>Fake standing up by throwing some papers then going for the throat.Cunning roll for a brawl skill. I will take the next two linked 1d100s.
>>39822344+40, good thing too. Both shots miss.
Bumping, always a rough start with new quests.
Rolled 83, 44 = 127 (2d100)>>39822344>>39822515yup, just gotta power through though, its amazing how much an audience can jump after 3ish threads. That and timezone troubles, etc. Second d100 just incase.
>>39822515It might have something to do with the misleading title, terrible timezone, and chargen driving folks off.
>>39822577We may see maido before the end of thread? Maybe, hahaha.
>>39822551 I'm here for a while The mook freaks out, papers fluttering into the air. The first shot goes wild into the trail of papers and a second drills into a heavy binder. You deftly dodge around the desk and charge the fat man. "W..W..Waittuggghh..." He chokes out, but is cut short by the dagger digging into his neck. A great gout of blood ejects, spraying all over your face and the desk. (San loss negated due to background).The body slumps to the ground and a flash envelops the room. You think its another gunshot but you don't feel the pinch. You turn, dagger in hand to see a young girl sitting on the desk. She kicks her foot idly. A row of knives glint along every seam. The blue of her dress is covered with the strange runes of the stone. You stare slackjawed. She glares at you. "Took you long enough summoner. Now, that mess have you gotten into to leave me locked up for so many years. Its Panako by the way." There's a dame and a body in your office. Welp. What did keep you?
>>39822922Blink-" Huh, well... I could say a smart, biting comment, or try to sound knowledgeable and confident. But I'll just admit I'm lost."OOC: it was the blood on the stone wasn't it?
>>39823002 You stammer for a moment, trying to find your words. Around the woman's neck hangs the stone, your stone, blood red and drenched. She narrows her gaze. "Eyes up here Summoner"
Okay,well. Char gen complete! Lets go again Saturday then! Thanks for playing!
Aaaah dammit just caught up. Nifty so far! Keep it up.
>>39823235Thanks for running.